I’m sitting against a wall outside Rao’s room, head resting against my hand. Exhaustion is a living beast, much too large and powerful for me to contain. It rests its paws on my chest and pushes down, down.

Regretfully, I must resist. We’re still waiting for Valkas, who for some reason didn’t follow the crowd up from the courtyard.

The Godtouched milling about the corridor are a confused mix. Some have come to scream in my face that I’m a cheater, that I should be dead, that I’m going to be dead soon anyways. My supporters – meaning the people who had bet on me to win and now found themselves richer than a few hours ago – pushed them back and eventually drew a loose cordon around me. But even in those rich and smiling faces I can tell there’s a hint of wondering when they turn my way. A sliver of doubt.

Rest, boys and girls, I think, leaning my head back against the wall and closing my eyes. It won’t work twice.

Rao hasn’t come out of his room yet. The door was slammed shut some time after I left, and it has remained so ever since.

“I have a theory,” says a voice over me. Essa. “I think we’re both blessed and cursed by some unknown entity. Forced to walk the toughest path available, and yet always making it out alive.”

“’Always’ is a bit optimistic,” I say, looking up at her. “We’ve done it twice.”

“Two times more than many would have managed. Mind if I sit?”

I nod at the space beside me and Essa nestles there. She’s still holding on to the Black Sword, which draws more than a few looks our way. The blade glimmers and shifts, like the surface is oil instead of metal. Obrein’s sword. I’d be glad if I’m never on its bad side again, though the chances are slim. I haven’t even begun to consider the amount of things I’ll have to take care of now that I survived.

“Nice armor.”

“Thanks. A troll made it for me.”

The organic garments had returned to their original shape as a mossy mantle a little after the excitement had dwindled down. Someone had passed me a waterskin at some point, and I’d tried splashing some liquid on the mantle. It had drunk gratefully. It seemed I would have to get used to watering my armor.

“You never told me about your Archetype,” I say in something just a little above a whisper.

“I was just checking, actually,” Essa says in the same tone, smiling. “And my Legend has grown. I can pick a new Perk.”

“Congratulations! One more Dungeon, one more level, and you’ll be stronger than anyone in the Black Sword guild.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Something Ged told me a while ago. Godtouched stop gaining new stuff at level three.”

“Even if they keep getting levels?”

I nod.

Essa stares silently in front of her for a span of a few breaths.

“All Godtouched? I didn’t know that. I thought we would be fighting level fives at least. Ten, maybe.”

“And you still volunteered?”

She shrugs, drawing her bulky breastplate against the stone wall.

“Like I said. The guy threatened Rev. I wanted a piece of him. Speaking of…” Essa hesitates. “You really don’t know what happened to her, do you? You’d tell me, even if the news were bad?”

I shake my head.

“I have no idea, Essa. But I know where to look. There’s a…” My eyes dart up, from face to watching face. No one is paying us much attention, and the corridor is loud with the sound of many conversations. Still, better to be thorough. I lean closer. “Lysander found a Dungeon. A real one.”

Other than the slight widening of her eyes, there isn’t a hint on Essa’s face that she just heard something shocking.

“He’s going there?” she asks, level.

“I… Lysander is missing, currently. But yes. Soon.”

There’s a flurry of movement at the end of the corridor, and all faces turn to look. Conversations quiet in a wave until the silence reaches us. I see Gedden step out from the circle of his friends

This can only mean one thing. We stand.

Valkas walks through the crowd, which parts to let him through. He’s trailed by Messer, garbed in a simple tunic and light pants, and Kalos, whose pudgy face is pale and scared. They leave behind a trail of whispers. The only people cautious enough to remain silent are Valkas’ inner circle, and I can see why. The man’s expression is calm and serene, much like a thunderstorm right before the first ray of lightning.

Essa taps my shoulder. I look down to find the mantle has begun to turn itself back to armor starting around my shoulders. I force myself to relax, the moss to slacken back into the likeness of a mantle.

He wouldn’t murder us in plain sight, I think to myself. Would he?

Valkas stops in front of us. Looking me steadily in the eye for a long moment. Force myself to keep my gaze away from his hands; stand as confidently as I can. Breathe.

Finally, he turns to look at Essa. A brief smile crosses his expression.

“I believe you have something of mine,” he says serenely.

“Yes, guild leader,” Essa says. “Thank you for the chance to use it. It’s a supremely fine weapon.”

Is that a dig? If the Godtouched catches the hint of insolence, he doesn’t make a show of it and simply nods. Essa passes him the Black Sword and Valkas takes a moment to examine the length of the sword, pommel and all, before returning the blade to its scabbard. Then he turns back to me.

Now what, you bastard?

“Young Malco. The Black Sword guild congratulates you for your victory.”

Oh?

“Hum. Thank you, guild leader.”

“And you, Essa, and you, Gedden as well, of course. You fought valiantly. Even though the resolution was… unorthodox, from what I hear, I—”

“You’re a goddamn cheater,” says a voice.

Everyone turns. Standing in the threshold to his room, hair disheveled and wearing only a long tunic, is Rao. He points an accusing finger in my face.

Valkas holds his hands behind his back.

“So you’ve decided to join us, Rao. How nice of you. Step out, then. Greet your audience.”

Rao lingers on the doorstep, hesitating. I notice that he refuses to look me in the eye, but then it becomes clear that all of his attention is focused on Valkas. His hands are clasped into fists at his side, twitching nervously.

“No?” Valkas continues. “Then maybe you should go back in your room. I’ll be with you after I’m done complimenting the winner.”

“You. Cheated,” Rao says through gritted teeth.

I expected something like this. Appeals for the result to be thrown out because I left the arena, or because Rao became suddenly weaker during the fight. I was ready for an accusation. What I wasn’t ready for was the fact that it doesn’t seem to be aimed at me. Slowly, everyone turns to Valkas. You could hear a needle drop on the rich carpet.

Something twitches in Valkas’ expression. Like he’s attempting at number of reactions, trying them out in his mind then casting them aside as inadequate. Finally, he smiles.

“As I said, Rao, we’ll talk after I’m done.”

“No,” says a gruff voice behind me. “I think we should hear what the kid has to say. Lots of people here interested in the outcome of this fight. Trugnar is too. If there was foul play, we should like to hear about it.”

A mutter of agreement courses through the audience. I see many hands fingering weapons absent-mindedly. When I look up again, I’m surprised to find Valkas looking directly at me.

“Why don’t we let the winner speak his mind?” he asks. “Malco, you were down in the sand in the thick of it. Did you get the impression the combat was unjust? Tell us.”

You mean the fact that Rao’s cape was clearly magical? That you traded Kalos for a more experienced fighter? Should I risk my win just to make you look bad?

The guild leader’s smile is steady, his expression impassive. When did he become such an expert manipulator?

“I think the combat was nothing if not fair, guild leader,” I say after a moment as I squeeze the pommel of the dagger sheathed at my side.

“Good. Wonderful. It’s settled, then.”

“You fucker,” Rao spits, stepping forward. “Liers! You promised he was going to die. You promised all I had to do was follow—”

Valkas moves so quickly, so unexpectedly, that by blinking I miss him. A single flicker of movement brings him from a relaxed standing position to a crouch, the Black Sword buried halfway in Rao’s neck.

“Like I said,” the guild leader says pleasantly. “The matter has been resolved. Stay in your room this time, Rao. I promise that I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The body slumps to the floor and immediately begins to sizzle to nothingness at the same time as a new body forms on Rao’s bed.

It’s based on proximity, I think, a shield against processing what just happened. The body lingers until the owner comes close, then it dissolves away.

Stepping gingerly over the deformed, bubbling mess on the floor, Valkas pulls the door closed, then reaches down to wipe the Black Sword on Rao’s tunic. With a start, I realize the crowd has rearranged itself subtly around me and Essa. Behind us are Loron and his team, as well as a few of the people I saw sitting around them. In front are Valkas’ supporters, while Nough and a few others ride the middle line, a faction unto themselves. A number of weapons have already been drawn. I think I even get a better notion as for why everyone is always in armor and lugging around serious weaponry. When you’re immortal, fighting is a quick, consequence-free way to solve problems. Everything seems to hang on the edge of a knife.

Only Valkas seems at ease as he gives the Black Sword a final polish, sheathes it carefully, and finally looks up.

“Oh, hop off it, everyone,” he snaps. “Remember that not everyone present has the benefit of respawning and Malco probably wants to enjoy his victory instead of dying because you couldn’t get a grip.” A shuffling in the crowd. A shifting of stances. “Wait a bit, at least. Malco, come along.”

With that final order, he strides away, leaving the rest of his entourage behind. Only Teryon, waiting at the back of the crowd, follows him down the corridor.

I look back at Gedden, still dressed only in the Waving Veil and ready to fight with everyone else. He shrugs, then nods, capturing both Essa and me with the gesture.

We pass through the narrow canal left in Valkas’ wake. The Godtouched here are Valkas’ supporters who likely lost money on this fight. One false movement, one over-reaching Godtouched is all it takes for us to end up as stains on the nice rug.

Someone reaches for me, touches my shoulder, and I flinch. But it’s not the beginning of the end, it’s not a death sentence. It’s Kalos. His eyes are red, like he’s just been crying, but his expression is resolute. He doesn’t say anything. After a moment, he lets me go.

Nothing happens. No one makes a move. In a little while we exit the Mirror Gallery, following Valkas and Teryon down the larger corridors. We’re quite some distance away when the fighting breaks out.

“Teryon,” Valkas says without breaking stride. “Make a note to charge Loron for any mirrors they break. He was the instigator, after all.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain of the guard says stiffly.

We move on in silence through the sleepy keep. Most of the occupants are busy where we left them, hacking each other to pieces. If not for the servants, we’d have the place to ourselves. We climb up the marble staircase and walk to a room at the end of a corridor flanked by two women in black, wearing the same patch on their shoulder pads that Teryon has in his. The guards push the large double doors open with a respectful half-bow, and we’re ushered into a large office flush with the afternoon’s golden light.

The room is richly decorated, regal, and official. An overlarge marble-top table, thick and heavy, but empty and clean, serves as a center piece. There’s a melody in the air that I can’t quite place and which seems to come from a cabinet on one side of the table. Valkas walks around the marble surface and sinks into a plush red chair framed with gilded wood. A long sigh escapes his mouth before he finally looks at us. His brow furrows.

“I don’t recall calling you in, Essa,” he says.

“I thought I’d better come, guild leader. Since Malco’s patron couldn’t be present.”

He’s bent and disheveled on the chair. A stark contrast to the image of balance he kept out in the keep.

Right until he nearly decapitated Rao, I remind myself.

Still, his eyes as he observes Essa don’t bother hiding his annoyance.

“Malco,” he says, eyes swiveling in my direction. “Congratulations on your victory. Do you mind me asking a few questions?”

“No.”

“No, guild leader,” he corrects. “Learn from your friend.”

I bite down a suitable response.

“No, guild leader.”

He leans forward, steepling his fingers.

“Tricking Rao with a fake strength potion. A clever trick, that. Tell me, what poison did you use?”

“No poison, guild leader,” I say, keeping my eyes resolutely level.

“No poison? What else could make the man as slow and weak as that? I—” Valkas’ eyes widen suddenly as understanding strikes him. “You gave him the refresh potion.”

“It was a pleasure to finally be able to return it, guild leader.”

“Did you hear that, Terry?” Valkas leans back, shaking his head. “Gave him the refresh potion.”

“I heard it, sir,” Teryon said from behind us.

“Close to a hundred gold pieces, that costs. Did you know that?”

“I did not,” I say truthfully. It’s more than three times than the exuberant amount me and Rev came up with when he got our hands on the potion.

“Would you have done it even if you knew?”

“Can’t spend a hundred gold pieces if I’m dead, guild leader.”

“Smart. Very well.” Valkas leans forward again. “My plan to kill you off failed.” He doesn’t seem the least bothered to say this out loud. “That’s alright. Rogues are the adaptable sort. Since your patron is missing, you will be put within custody of the guild. You will participate in the upcoming Challenge with your mates. Is that clear?”

I open my mouth to answer. Before I can, Valkas barrels through.

“No lip, please. Remember what Lagos showed you in the catacombs? That’s still where you left it.”

Bite your tongue, you sorry bastard. You’ll get Medrein killed. I want him gone from my life. Not dead.

“Are we clear?” he asks.

“As a lake.” I say. Then, after a pause. “Guild leader.”

“Good. Nice fight. Hope to see that same spunk in the dungeon. I hear the competition is fierce this year. Dismissed.”

We turn and walk away. Teryon pulls a door open to let us through when Valkas stops us again.

“Before I forget,” he says, rising to reach the cabinet behind the table. “Doing my goddamn head in. Here.”

A large jar arcs through the air. I step up and catch it precariously in the crook of my two arms. Some dark substance is encased within. A potion? And then the darkness shifts.

No, not a potion.

“Hello, Malco.”

It's Rue.